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This work, it was the high honor of Dr. Samuel Johnson to perform; and by doing it so ably and so satisfactorily, he became one of the greatest benefactors to the English language, and literature, that has ever lived. When we consider what a vast compass of reading it required to collect the unnumbered quotations from distinguished authors, by which the meaning which he has attached to words was illustrated and supported; the discrimination which was necessary to fix accurately the import of terms, and to assign to his authorities their proper place; and the patience and labor which a work so complicated and extensive required for its completion, we cannot fail to regard this as one of the most astonishing efforts of literary industry and skill. Happy it was, perhaps, for the world, that Johnson was comparatively a poor man. Necessity is not only the mother of invention, but the parent of industry. Johnson had eaten up the avails of his Dictionary by the time he had completed it; and while he was toiling for the benefit of his own age, and of generations unborn, without being stimulated by the certainty that they would duly appreciate his labors, he had the ever-present stimulus of a desire to procure his daily bread. His 'Rasselas,' also, one of his most elegant productions, was the fruit of a week's labor, to procure the means of defraying the expenses of his mother's funeral.

Johnson's Dictionary, immediately on its publication, and in every period since, has been resorted to as a standard of the language; and from his authority there have been few appeals. Johnson understood, and confined himself to, the true province of a lexicographer, which is, not to give law to language, but merely to ascertain and to promulgate it. His is an original work, totally unlike every thing which had gone before it; and later lexicographers have mostly lived upon his labors.

Since the time of Johnson, the English language has been adorned by many distinguished writers, and the advancement of the arts and sciences has required the adoption of many new terms. These have, by different editors, been incorporated with the work of Johnson. Some words have also been gleaned up, which Johnson, in the extent of his range, had overlooked; and so complete has the catalogue of authorized words become, and so definite have been the meanings which have been attached to them, that the English must be regarded as a settled language. The 'daily-changing tongue,' of which our motto complains, will not be ours, unless foreign corruptions are permitted to creep in, and pervert it.

The latter part of the eighteenth century was particularly fruitful in distinguished authors, whose works have received the highest finish of style. Johnson, not only by the publication of his Dictionary, but by his miscellaneous writings, has done much to improve his native tongue. While his constant use of words of Latin derivation gives a degree of stiffness, and sometimes of pedantry, to his style, it has yet the highest redeeming qualities. The nice discrimination with which he applies his epithets, the splendor of his imagery, and the majestic flow of his periods, have received, as they have deserved, universal admiration. The poetry of Cowper has excellencies of its kind, not inferior to those of his distinguished predecessors. In history, Robertson has given the finest specimens of a dignified elegance,

and Gibbon of a lofty splendor of style. Goldsmith has written with a simplicity, correctness, and elegance, which have never been exceeded. Melmoth has all the ease and grace of Addison, without his negligence and slight incorrectness.

Among the favorable circumstances respecting the English language, which have latterly taken place, the new turn which has been given to fictitious writing, deserves to be mentioned. The character of works of this kind, some forty or fifty years since, was miserable in the extreme. Many of them were written by half-learned men, or pedantic women; and they were generally most extravagant in their incidents, and clothed in a style which set all good taste at defiance. It is well that the reading public have agreed to make a bonfire of these works, and that the shelves of circulating libraries no longer groan beneath them. To this change, the prose writings of Sir Walter Scott have essentially contributed. He, in conjunction with some others, has been the means of bringing the authors of fictitious writings in some measure back to nature; and has caused the public taste on this subject to flow in a new channel.

The English language has excellencies which place it, at least, on a level with any language that was ever written or spoken; and perhaps such various excellence was never before combined in any tongue. The great versatility of this language is among its distinguishing features. It is alike adapted to history, to philosophy, to poetry, to oratory, and to the less elevated kinds of composition. In the hands of a skilful writer, it is sometimes smooth as the stream which scarcely ripples as it runs, and sometimes it is impetuouɛ as the mountain torrent, which dashes from precipice to precipice, in fury and in foam: sometimes it is beautiful as the gentle cascade; and sometimes it thunders like the Falls of Niagara.

If the English language is less sonorous than the Greek, it is more copious; if it is less majestic, in the ordinary flow of its periods, than the Latin, it is more precise and more various in its import. If it wants something of the familiarity and ease of the French, it is much better adapted to the higher kinds of writing. For the purposes of poetry, it has a vast advantage over the French. The accented and unaccented syllables of the English enable it to approach very near to the poetic feet of the Latin and the Greek. This adapts it alike to rhyme and to blank verse. The French poetry cannot be sustained without rhyme, which must be regarded, in a greater or less degree, as a clog upon genius; and as a substitute for blank verse, their only resort is to poetic prose, a good example of which is to be found in the Telemaque of Fenelon. How poor a species of poetry this is, contrasted with English blank verse, must be evident to all who have compared them. The English, unlike most other languages, has a dialect that is appropriately poetic; and by the natural division of genders, it has a preparation, by the application of the masculine or feminine gender to an inanimate object, to convert the simplest form of speech into a bold personification.

The diversified character of English poetry displays, in a striking light, the richness of the language. Milton bears no resemblance to Young; nor Young to Dryden; nor Dryden to Thomson; nor Thomson to Pope; nor Pope to Cowper; and yet each has dis

tinguished excellencies of his kind. The same diversity will be found in the historical writers of the language. Their sentences are never cast in the same mould. The simple neatness of Hume is quite unlike the dignified eloquence of Robertson; the dignity and elegance of Robertson are unlike the loftiness and splendor of Gibbon; and the chaste beauty of Goldsmith is unlike them all. The same remark holds true in every other department of literature. Addison is widely different from Johnson in his style, and Melmoth is different from both. There is a variety in the character of English literature, which would probably be sought for in vain in any other language.

The grammar of this language is more simple than that of any other tongue, if we except the Hebrew, without the points; and the facility with which its grammatical construction may be acquired, is one of its advantages. The article has no variation. The adjective is only varied to express the degrees of comparison. The verbs have but one conjugation, and the original verb remains mostly unchanged in all the moods and tenses, which are chiefly expressed by auxiliaries. He who, with great labor, has mastered the various inflections of the Latin, Greek, or French verbs, will know how to estimate this advantage. The order of the words in the construction of sentences in the English is the order of nature; nor does the idiom of the language allow extensively of inversion, except it be in poetry. This gives to it a philosophical character.

But if the English language has distinguished excellencies, it has also its defects, which it would evince a want of perspicacity or of candor to deny. The short words with which the language abounds, which extensively terminate with consonants, detract much from the harmony of its pronunciation. The similarity in the form of the verb, in different tenses and different persons, often creates an ambiguity in regard to its import, which can only be removed by a careful attention to that which precedes, and that which follows it in the sentence. The division of accented and unaccented syllables in English, though it fits the language for poetry without rhyme, is by no means as well defined, and as extensively productive of harmony of versification, as were the long and the short syllables in the Latin and the Greek. By the transposition of words, also, they could secure a variety of cadence, and a harmony of pronunciation, to which the English language can never attain.

Another and concluding number will be devoted to a consideration of the best means of cultivating an acquaintance with the English language; the danger of corruption to which it is exposed from innovation; with some allusion to British criticism upon the manner in which the English language is written and spoken in America; and an examination of its future prospects, in regard to its prevalence and extension.

ALARMISTS.

THERE are, that when they wet their pen, must still turn prophesiers,
While fact and date, both obstinate, turn up to prove them liars.
For our own land this croaking band much evil have been brewing;
But she is sure to thrive the more, when such predict her ruin.

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THE text may be found in the tragedy of Othello, third act, third I state this remarkable fact, to show that the above is an 'original quotation,' taken directly from the author, and not merely quoted from a previous quoter. I hold that there may be as much piracy in quotation, as in stealing an original idea; and I am ready to wager that half the scribblers in the world quote from quoters, without ever reading the originals. But to the illustration of my quotation.

A few years ago, I left my native state, on an invitation from my kind uncle Scrapings, of Havana, to join him in partnership there, under the firm of Scrapings, Scrapps, and Company; but before I went, I had incontinently fallen in love with a beauty of my native city, of eighteen years, and a little money. She was a most voluptuous-looking little creature, with eyes as black as a pair of suspender buttons, and two little fairy hands, as white - oh, how white! And the dear creature loved me, too; and so it came to pass, that we were 'engaged.' It was arranged that I should go to Havana, get well established in business, then return to claim Clara Smith, (an own sister of John,) for my bride. In due time, I was established, and business prospered famously. Every thing we touched was converted into gold, and almost without an effort.

I kept up a correspondence with Clara, in which there was a due proportion of vows, rhapsodies, and apostrophes; but occasionally

interspersed, on her side and on mine, with little trifling jealousies, which tended to give a lively dash of bitters to the otherwise too sickening draughts of sweets. There was nothing very serious in these lovers' quarrels, however, and after a short time, we always returned again to the old worn-out track of unadulterated love.

Two years passed away, and I was making ready to return for my beloved. I was always fond of exciting surprise, and determined, on this occasion, to make a sort of trap-door entrée into the presence of my little idol. So, having deceived her as to the time when she might begin to expect me, I found myself, in the month of September, in New-York, on my way home; and the next evening found me at Clara's gate that gate over which I had taken and given many a parting kiss! The evening was warm; the parlor windows were open; and I heard within voices and laughter. Softly I approached, and slily I looked in. With a thrill of horror, I beheld Clara seated in a rocking-chair, while a fellow, a young fellow, a handsome fellow, seemed with one hand to be playfully covering her eyes, and with the other paddling in her neck with his damned fingers;' while her mother and sister sat on a sofa, quietly grinning at the fellow's impudence! I felt my blood hissing in my veins, yet I stood still. I saw him play with her ear; I grinned horribly a ghastly smile.' He spanned her face with his fingers; I twisted off two buttons of my coat. He encircled her head with his arm; I tore out a handful of hair. Finally, the dumb ass opened his mouth and spake; and I felt my blood reddening the very tip of my nose; but I restrained my indignation, to listen.

'I think,' said he,' you are fond of men in general; and I think you would find little difficulty in transferring your affections from one to another, after the decease or treachery of the first. Now suppose your lover prove treacherous don't you think so?' I paused no longer. Job himself, when incrusted with 'sore boils,' would not have waited so long as I did. I rushed into the room, and catching the dog by the throat, laid him prostrate. Villain!' cried I, and is it thus you attempt to inveigle away the affections of my betrothed? Know, Sir, that I will suffer death, rather than dishonor !'

The mother and sister ran screaming from the room; but Clara, recognizing me at once, fell upon my neck, cried out, O Judgment, (Reader, my euphonious name is Judgment Scrapps,) dear, dearest Judgment spare him, and I will explain all to your satisfaction!'

Half doubting, I quitted my hold, and half doubtingly I returned her embrace. Say on then, my Clara; I shall be but too happy to believe any thing you can say in explanation.'

6

That gentleman whom you have so wronged, is Dr. Feeler, the Phrenologist.'

'Phrenologist!

and pray what may that be?'

'Why, dearest, it is one who uses the same means to discover another's intellect and disposition, that a monkey does to discover a certain species of the animal creation.'

Ah, I understand; such as we used to call craniologists. Humph! I never had the pleasure of seeing one. But is that indeed all? What a fool I have been! My dear Clara, and you my dear Dr. Feeler, is it possible you can pardon my atrocious violence? Sir,' continued

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